This is a bad idea.
I know it with the same gut instinct that has kept me alive for centuries. I've had countless opportunities to obey and to ignore it, and have learned that it's better to trust myself and listen to the whispers of intuition that warn me when I'm making the wrong decision. My time in this world has not been wasted; I've found causes, leaders I believed in, and I've fought more battles and survived more wars than I can count. Admittedly, my magic kept me alive where a normal mortal may have died, but those warning feelings kept me out of situations I would have come to regret.
Immortality has purged many traits from me; stubbornness is not one of them. It's a bad idea. I feel it with the same intensity that makes me feel safe near the water or uneasy in a crowd. And with the same level of certainty, I know that I'm going to do it anyway.
"Where are we going?" Gwen asks. There's still a thread of uneasiness in her voice, but her eyes are bright with excitement. I am reminded all over again how much I've missed her.
"The park," I respond, leading the way through the city at the measured pace acquired by years of having no deadline. A park, anyway. I don't remember its name.
Lance is following half a step behind Gwen, quiet and thoughtful as always. I sense the careful attention he's paying to our route, and can't help smiling at the warrior's instincts that have resurfaced in this new Lancelot. Even lifetimes later, he is still a knight, just as he always was. A sense of peace that I never thought I'd feel again settles over me. These are my friends, my family. And they're coming back to me.
I know the park well enough by now to find a secluded area, a little ways off the path where we shouldn't be bothered. I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the city mingling with the song of birds and the brush of the breeze. When I am sure that we're alone, I open my eyes and focus on the expectant faces of Lance and Gwen.
"Don't be scared," I tell them gently, and add please in my thoughts. I fold my hands and hold them out, trying to squelch the last stab of warning aroused by exposing myself. "Forbearnan," I whisper. Heat leaps at my palms, and I open them to reveal a tiny tongue of flame dancing harmlessly on my skin. I keep my hands cupped around it, sheltering it from the breeze, and hold it out to Gwen and Lance the way a potter might hold a new, fragile creation.
They look appropriately stunned. Gwen recovers first, and stretches out a cautious hand to the fire.
"It'll burn," I warn, but open my hands a little wider anyway.
She pauses, flicking a curious glance up at me. Then she opens her palm and holds it over the flame, close enough to feel its heat but not to get burned. "It's hot," she reports incredulously.
I offer the same test to Lance, but he shakes his head. "I believe it, I just… don't believe it." His fingers clench into fists at his side, as if he's keeping them from reaching out despite his words. He looks up and meets my gaze with eyes that somehow hold both questions and acceptance. "How?"
I release the magic and let the flame die away, brushing my hands together as a final proof that they're empty. "I don't know. I've always been able to do it."
"Morgan…" Gwen is watching me the way a mouse would watch a cat. A sliver of hurt cuts through me at the fear in her eyes, and I remember my premonition that this would not end well. But I have a second chance at doing things now, and I am not going to make the same mistakes. In my past, nobody knew I had magic, and that brief time with my friends was marred by secrets and loneliness. I will not hide that part of myself again.
"Well," Lance breathes, his voice controlled and even. "This is not how I expected my day to turn out."
I offer him an apologetic smile. "You wanted proof."
My companions are silent, so I bury my disappointment under lifetimes of patience and step back. "I know it's a lot to take in. I'm sorry- I shouldn't have shown you so soon. But I feel as if I know you already, and it's hard to remember we've just met."
Lance blinks at me, confusion appearing and vanishing in his eyes. "We did, didn't we?" He looks at Gwen for a moment before returning his gaze to me. "I can't say I understand it, but… for some reason, I think I understand you. At least, I feel as if I've known you longer than a few hours."
His words are a gift I did not look for, and I don't know how to respond. Gwen reaches out and sets hesitant fingers against my palm, feeling the coolness there. She lets out a breath, withdrawing her hand and slipping it into Lance's. "Somehow, this actually explains things a little. Why I felt so close to you so quickly." She looks up at her boyfriend, and I am struck by the sudden realization of everything Lancelot sacrificed in leaving Gwen to Arthur. "And why I trust you," she adds with an uncertain smile to me. "Maybe you're not so mad after all."
"Or we're just as mad as you are," Lance deadpans. I'm inclined to agree with him.
I lead the way back to the path, the other two following behind. "I think that's enough world-shattering revelations for the day," I tell them, gesturing to the path that will lead them out of the park. "I'll give you a chance to process things."
Gwen lets out a breathy laugh. "That would be good. But we'll see you again?"
"Yes," I say, and it comes out sounding like a request rather than a confirmation. "And if eventually I could meet the others… Percy and Ethan and Leo." The names sound strange to my ears, but I force myself to speak them smoothly. "Maybe warn them first though."
Lance's dark eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. "And anyone else?" he asks. There's a strange note in his voice, as if there's more to his question than the words suggest.
"Anyone else?" I repeat. "Who else do you know?"
Lance hesitates for a long moment. "I can't tell," he says finally. "I swore I would never talk about it- and I didn't think of it again until now. But I know someone else who used to talk like you. Maybe if you met… maybe you know her too."
I resist the urge to ask who it is. "No names then. Can you describe her?"
For a moment Lance is silent, considering. Then he says, "She has dark hair. Long, waving. That's all I can say."
My heartbeat stutters in my chest. "And she remembers things too?"
"She used to talk about it, as a child. She didn't mention names, but she told me about dreams she'd had… dreams of castles and magic. She said they were more like memories than dreams."
Dark, waving hair. Memories of magic. I stand in the path as Lance and Gwen take their leave of me, staring after them and trying to control the rising feeling of panic brought on by Lance's words. If the others are back, she must be too. And if she remembers… If she knows who I am…
"Morgana," I whisper, and the wind picks up and steals her name away from my lips, tearing at my jacket and promising a storm.
